


Take the Time and Love You More

by sunlightdances (glowinghorizons)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, First Dates, Fluff, Love Confessions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-06-02 07:15:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19436548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glowinghorizons/pseuds/sunlightdances
Summary: Bucky comes back from a mission tired of hiding how he feels for you. A last minute, impromptu date changes everything.





	Take the Time and Love You More

**Author's Note:**

> Written for @cametobuyplums’ (on Tumblr) 2000 Plums Writing Challenge! My prompt was “Dernière minute : last minute”

Bucky Barnes has been alive for a very, very long time. He’s seen things he wishes he could forget, and he’s had moments that he wants to live in forever, moments with his friends and newfound family that he honestly never thought he would get to have.

He’s been alive for a very long time, and still finds himself surprised when he feels nerves like he is now, standing on your doorstep and hoping against hope that you’re awake, and _alone_ , and–

The door opens.

His breath leaves him on a shaky exhale, your confused gaze sharpening when you recognize him, half shadowed by the night.

“Bucky?”

He had this whole speech planned about how life is too short and how he’s tired of waiting, tired of trying to convince himself he doesn’t deserve this, but it all goes out the window when your lips curl into a small smile upon seeing him.

“I know this is last minute, but do you– would you go out to dinner with me? Right now?”

You blink. “It’s… Bucky, it’s midnight.”

“I know.”

There must be desperation in his eyes as well as his voice, because you wave him in with one hand, muttering about getting a sweatshirt and trying to find your shoes.

He grins.

.

.

.

The diner down the road from your apartment is open 24 hours. You don’t know how you forgot about it, but in your defense, you were a little surprised when Bucky showed up in the middle of the night.

You haven’t heard from him in weeks.

He’s alright, as far as you can see. A little tired, maybe, but all things considered, he’s in one piece – _mostly, because this thing comes off_ , he had joked, gesturing towards his arm – and alive.

You still can’t wrap your head around the fact that he’s here.

“You okay?” He asks, and you realize you’ve been staring, propping your head up on your hand. You probably literally look like there are stars in your eyes.

“Should be asking you that,” you counter, quietly.

He looks a little chagrined. “I was an idiot. _Am_ an idiot. Thought you knew that about me already.”

The waitress comes back and puts two coffees and a slice of pie each in front of you and Bucky, a warm smile sent in his direction that has him blushing as she leaves.

“I was worried about you.” You say, busying yourself adding sugar and cream to your coffee so you don’t have to look at him. “I know you probably can’t tell me anything about it, but–”

“We were in Russia.” He tells you. His voice is flat. “Had a lead and– it doesn’t matter.” He digs into his pie, giving you a minute to look at him.

Leather jacket over a simple black t-shirt, dark wash jeans and his newly-cropped hair, short on the sides, long on top, swept to one side. Here, in this diner with you, you feel like he’s stepped right out of the fifties.

It looks good on him though, and you feel that warmth inside you that you’ve felt ever since you first met Bucky, all those months ago in the bookshop where you work in Manhattan, back when he came in nearly every week, devouring history books and fiction books alike.

Ever since the start, he’s had you, hook, line, and sinker. You wonder if he knows it.

“Can I tell you something?” He asks, his eyes imploring.

“Of course.”

“I just– I know I haven’t been in touch. I’ve been… doing a lot of thinking. And then this mission came up, and I didn’t have time…” he drags a hand through his hair. “And that’s the thing. I’ve been alive forever, it feels like. But I always feel like I’m running out of time.”

You feel in a pang in your chest as you meet his eyes, the blue staring back at you full of regret and a little bit of pain. His hand moves to cover yours, slowly, giving you a chance to change your mind, but you don’t. You flip your hand over at the last second, palm to palm with him, your fingers lacing together effortlessly.

“I don’t want to waste any more time,” he says, and the unspoken words are loud as if he’s said them right into your ear.

He walks you to your door at nearly two in the morning, promising to call you in the morning – _make it afternoon,_ he amends with a smile – and then with a kiss on your cheek, he’s gone.

You go to bed half wondering if any of that really happened at all.

.

.

.

Three weeks later, you’re the one rushing out the door, phone pressed to your ear. When he answers, you could weep with relief.

“What’s going on?” He asks, alarmed.

“I’m safe, it’s nothing. I just– oh, Bucky, this is so last minute, I’m so sorry–”

“That’s kinda becoming our thing, isn’t it?” He asks, the words doing their job by making you smile and stop for a second on the sidewalk, trying to calm down.

“I suppose it is,” you agree. “I completely forgot about this work thing going on after hours tonight.” You frown. “I know I said we would get dinner, but I kind of have to be there–”

“Any chance you need a date?”

“You’re serious?”

A beat. “If I get a few hours with you, that’s all I care about.”

You give him the address, your heart fluttering as his low voice assures you he’ll be there, and you find the burst of courage you’ve been looking for over the last few weeks as you remember the echo of his voice – _I don’t want to waste any more time_.

Neither do you.

He shows up looking like an adonis and you can’t help the grin that overtakes your features when he finally spots you after a few seconds of looking around the room filled with your coworkers.

His eyes light up.

A whiff of cologne before a kiss pressed to your temple – _don’t want to mess up your makeup_ , he whispers – and you don’t know how you pretended for so long that you’re not in love with him.

You resolve to tell him before the night is over. Because he deserves to know that you’re both on the same wavelength, both so stupid for each other. He deserves to know that he’s cared for and loved.

 _No more wasting time_.

He charms the pants off your bosses and coworkers alike, and never leaves your side, his hand a comforting weight on the curve of your waist, his eyes sparkling when he catches you staring at him, admiring the sharp line of his jaw and the blue of his eyes.

After, he walks you home, his jacket draped over your shoulders and your hand tucked in his.

“So,” he drawls, “Was that technically our first date?”

You smirk, “I thought our midnight dinner date was our first one.”

On your doorstep, he stays on the first step while you step up on the second one, at eye level with him. “Thank you,” you say softly, “for doing that for me tonight. I know it was last minute–”

“It’s our thing, I told you,” he chides. “You don’t have to thank me. Whenever you need me, you’ve got me.”

Butterflies take flight in your stomach again, and you can’t help but reach for him, your hand touching the side of his face lightly, your heart racing at the way his breath falters at your touch. “I think I love you, Bucky Barnes.”

His eyes slide shut. A breath escapes him, something like relief in his sigh before he opens his eyes again, the blue turning cobalt as he stares at you.

You don’t expect him to say it back. You’re– you’re nobody. An editor at a publishing firm that just so happened to have a chance encounter with an Avenger one day and never looked back. You know he’s got parts of his life that you’ll never fully understand, but in this moment, you’re just a girl and he’s just a guy looking at you like you’ve hung the moon.

“I– you’re… you’re _everything_ to me.” He says, his voice fierce and tight with emotion. “That’s why I came here in the middle of the night weeks ago. After that mission, it dragged up memories I didn’t want to remember. But despite everything that’s happened to me, my life brought me you. I don’t know what I ever did to deserve it, but all I know is that life is short and I just–” He stops realizing he’s rambling every romantic thought he’s ever had about you since the day you met. “If all I get for the rest of my life are last minute dates with you, I can die a happy man.”

You basically melt into him right there, finally kissing him like you’ve wanted to since basically the day you met, and he matches your desperation, but turns it a little more reverent, a little more gentle, and it has heat thrumming through your veins.

“Sweetheart,” he whispers after he pulls away. “I’ve got an early morning and you do too.” He smiles regretfully.

You tilt your head to one side. You really don’t want him to leave. “Last minute sleepover?”

He laughs, and the sound is so beautiful you can hardly stand it. “I guess I could be convinced.”

You lead him inside with your hand wrapped up in his, and that night, you both sleep better than you have in years, each other’s heartbeats the lullaby sending you both into a dreamless sleep.


End file.
